


kiss my skin and you touch my heart

by melanoradrood



Series: Universes Made Just For You And I [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood
Summary: He doesn't look like other men... but Jyn doesn't seem to mind.





	kiss my skin and you touch my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anothersadsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothersadsong/gifts).



> AU: Canon Compliant Post Scarif  
> Word Count: 1649  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warnings: none  
> Prompt: Kiss on a place of insecurity by oh-nostalgiaa

Cassian doesn’t mean to notice, but he does. It’s something he has always seen, always recognized. By no means is he short, as in fact, he’s of rather average height, particularly for a human, but he’s not... he’s not buff, his body thin and lithe. He’s not the strongest, but he is the fastest, can get in and out, slip by, slip away... he  _is_  strong, and he  _is_  defined, but he’s not broad, his body has starved for food multiples times in his life, and he’s not... he’s not like others in this rebellion.

When he’s in the training room, working out the physical therapy that he still pushes himself through a year after Scarif, he can see it. Can see it in the way that others use machines to try and show themselves off, particularly when a group of new recruits are in the area. He can see it in the way that others push themselves to have competitions as to who can lift more, who can run faster. It’s particularly rough when he’s handed the smallest sizes of shirts they have, to recognize that he’s not... he’s just not built like others around him.

It burns when he sees Jyn arm wrestling a man twice his size, and winning.

It’s not that he cares about the fact that Jyn is stronger than him. He has already long known that she’s mentally, emotionally, stronger than him. She carries on despite everything burning down around her, keeps going even in the face of death, never quits, never gives up... He needs that strength, clings to it as he struggles to survive after Scarif, to get back up again and to push himself to get better.

He doesn’t even care that she’s physically stronger than him, which is amazing because she’s almost a whole head shorter than him, and they probably weigh the same, but she had half carried him off of Scarif, and had done it a few dozen other things since then as well, when he had re-injured old wounds that he wouldn’t give the proper time to heal...

He’s not intimidated by it, doesn’t care that Jyn Erso is stronger than him. What he does care about is the fact that she’s watching some pretty boy from a farm on Yavin lifting multiple ammo cans at a time with his shirt off, and Leia Organa standing beside her, sighing as the boy’s muscles flexed. It’s jealousy, plain and simple, because she doesn’t watch him like that. She doesn’t look at him and sigh. She barely even notices when he pulls his shirt off to look at his old scars, to see the skin healing once again. Doesn’t notice when she has to help him out of the shower with only a towel around his waist.

( He doesn’t know that Jyn spends many nights breathing hard, thinking about the skin he lets her see like it’s nothing. He doesn’t know that Jyn dreams of his arms wrapped around her, of her arms wrapped around him, and how perfectly their thin bodies fit together, how his hands fit against hers, how she wouldn’t change him for the world. )

He tries not to think about it, even now, as he stands in the middle of the training room, and Jyn has stripped down to her tank top, her vest and long sleeve shirt tossed to the side, and he’s... he wants to pull off his shirt, because he’s dripping in sweat, but he’s nothing like the other bodies in this room, and there’s scars on his back, on his hips, and he knows he can’t even begin to compare.

Can’t even begin to compare to the other bodies in the room, and Jyn had even gazed at one of them when they walked in, skin tan and hairless and smooth, with no signs that he had ever fought.

That was the difference, Cassian had realized. Those that had these bodies that were, well, nothing like his? They had never fought, fought for survival, for food, for the right to live, and he... he was used up.

Maybe that was what bothered him, that his body showed that he had fought, had died, had struggled to survive. What was left of him? What was there left for him to even offer Jyn? He woke up from his nightmares, screaming silently in terror, and he couldn’t run fast enough to get away from troopers on their last mission, needing Jyn to fight for him while he struggled to stand, and he - he’s washed up, burned out. That’s what his body said. He was old, and he was done.

( He doesn’t notice that she’s looking at him now, watching how the sweat drips down his neck, her heart racing because of  _him_  and not because of the physical activity, doesn’t even notice that when he finally,  _finally_ , pulls his shirt from his pants, pulling it up just enough that he can rub at his face with it, that her eyes are on the trail of hair that dips into his pants. He doesn’t notice because as soon as he looks up, she looks away, and there’s a blush on her skin that isn’t from the physical exertion. )

“Just take it off,” she says, and she nods her head towards him, towards his chest. Cassian wants to say no, but he’s burning alive, and someone should really fix the central cooling on his base, but it’s the middle of summer on this planet and with four suns, even being underground, there’s no chance of cooling down.

“Alright, alright,” he says, and really, he’s only doing this because it  _is_  too hot, and the room is halfway cleared as it is. She has seen it before, has seen him stripped to nothing in a bacta tank before, so why care? Besides, if anyone was watching the pair of them spar, they would be watching her. She’s the one that’s full of grace and beauty and youth, the one that makes men stop and gasp, the one that - that makes his heart ache deep within him, every time she gives him a rare smile, or beats the bantha shit out of someone.

He pulls his shirt up and over his head, trying not to groan at how his back hurts, and he turns, tossing it onto the pile of their clothes, on top of his jacket, and he tries, tries to not feel self concious as he turns around, knowing that his scar was just very much on display for Jyn to look at, and she has seen it before, has even touched it, so it shouldn’t be a surprise - 

She’s looking at him, her nostrils flared, her eyes wide, and normally, when they’re fighting, she catches her breath easily when they pause, but now she’s breathing hard, and it takes a second for him to realize what it is, because he’s worried at first that maybe his scar is puckered and raw again, but no - 

She’s checking him out. Jyn Erso is checking him out. Him. 

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He’s not a cocky little shit like that pilot Han Solo, and he’s not built like half the pathfinders on his base that are built like they could knock someone over without any effort, so why is she -  _oh_.

He won’t analyze this because it doesn’t make sense so there’s no point in wasting his time. Instead, he’s going to finish this sparring session with Jyn, because otherwise he’ll ask why she’s staring, and force help him, he couldn’t take the answer, no matter what it was.

Better to ignore, to avoid, to never admit - because that was what they did. They ran and they lied and they stayed silent. It was who they were as people, so why not be that way even with the person they were closest to?

“See something you like?” he asks, and the words slip out and Draven should honestly shoot him because what use was a spy that said things without meaning to.

Jyn sucks in a breath in response and then her eyes dart away, and that’s - that’s the answer, and it’s a good answer, no matter what she says, and he-

“Just hit me, Cassian,” she says, and she’s still not looking at him, so he doesn’t argue, just shifts forward as he raises his hands. He’ll swing at her, and she’ll block it, and they’ll go back to this dance they’re in, this dance of their lives, and yeah, he just threw out something she wasn’t expecting but he wasn’t expecting her reaction, and maybe this was a misstep in the dance or maybe they were moving forward, but - 

It’s something. It’s something, and he’s still insecure about his body, but maybe Jyn doesn’t mind that much. If she doesn’t mind - she knows him, knows what he is, knows what he has left, knows what’s left of him, so if she doesn’t mind, he won’t mind.

( She follows him back to his room afterwards, and when the door closes behind him, Jyn is pressing his body into the wall, and he doesn’t stop her even as she answers him with every kiss, her mouth pressing to his shoulder, down his chest, to his stomach where the trail of hair dips in, and he can’t even try to stop her when she raises back up, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the shower. She kisses his shoulders, his back, his scars, and he-

He kisses his way down her body, every scar, every mark, every place she tries to hide from him, and maybe she has insecurities as well, but he loves every last inch of her, even if he can’t tell her yet - but he will.

Force, he will. )


End file.
